Personal Taste
by Soshoryu
Summary: Tom Marvolo Riddle, or Lord Voldemort, it doesn't matter. Some views never change.


Tom never liked the other children in the orphanage. Something about them seemed so...childish. They were constantly happy and illogical and they all played with each other thinking up imaginary plots to act out, different identities to be.

He had tried to be like them at one point. Really, he did. He remembered one time, when one of the new kids, some curly red-haired and green-eyed Irish girl, had invited him to play, saying something about proving the other kids wrong in their thoughts of him. They were going to pretend to be in a circus. Tom was assigned the part of fire breather. He didn't want to be a fire breather. But they said he had to be. They gave him at box of matches, and told him to light one and to breathe it. When he swallowed the match and did as they said, the Irish girl caught on fire. That was the last time he was invited to play by the children. That was also the last time the orphanage adults allowed the children to have matches.

He never liked the adults either.

* * *

When Tom learned the differences between muggles and wizarding folk, he figured that was why the children at the orphanage were so immature. He soon learned however, that this was not the case. He knew, thanks to that damned Gryffindor head, that he was a "half-blood." He learned in Slytherin that blood status was true magic power. "Muggle-borns" didn't _deserve_ to use magic. They were _inferior_. He realized that it was muggle-borns that were destroying the magical world. He decided to add that to his personal to-do list. Never would he be powerless. Everyone would know and—fear?—no, _respect_ his name. And he would save his new beloved world from the plague of the Muggle-borns.

But what about the muggles?

Well, as far as Tom was concerned, muggles weren't worth thinking about. It's not as if they actually mattered. Way he saw it, he was doing them a kindness killing them off. They didn't belong in a world of magic, and there certainly wasn't room for them in _his_ world.

* * *

"My Lord, Please, I beg of you, spare Lily Potter's life. She can be usefu-"

"Silence." Red eyes subtly flashing, Voldemort leered at who he believed to be his most promising servant. Yet perhaps some reconsideration was in order. After all, Severus was pleading for the life of the mother of his greatest threat, and this whole baby-can-be-his-downfall thing was still something he was trying to seriously accept. Dark lord or not, the babe posing a threat was slightly unbelievable and extremely irritating, and Severus's _unfathomable_ desire for that _mudblood's _life was not exactly putting his mind to ease. However, Severus was useful, and it would be better if his servants were heard every now and then. "Now Severus, I am to understand that you wish for me to spare the woman, yes? The brat's muggle mother. This is out of the question." Snape's expression remained stoic save for his eyes which flickered with an indescribable emotion. Voldemort mentally sneered at the sign of weakness, but again, Severus was useful and he had proved such with the announcement of this secret prophecy. "However, I will grant your request-" Snape visibly relaxed, "**_if_ she gives up the brat."**

* * *

This red head was getting on his nerves, she was. She reminded him of something from his childhood. Not to mention her stubborn pleading and begging and crying was rapidly fraying his already thin patience.

"_Please no_, take me, kill me instead-"

"Stand aside you silly girl." Merlin, was she really going to be idiotic about this? She'd already lost her husband, she was _going _to lose her son, was she honestly going to throw her own life away as well? Muggle-born fool.

"Please, I'll do anything-" _THEN STAND ASIDE, WENCH!_ She really was going to be this stubborn! Well, Severus knew his terms, the woman wasn't cooperating. So—

"Avada Kedavra!" _Thump._ The Potter woman's green lifeless eyes stared up at him. Now, onto the boy. Sweeping over the corpse, he came up to the crib and looked down onto the boy and saw a shock of black hair and his mother's twinkling green eyes. The boy smiled up at him. Voldemort took a step back. What child would look up at he, the Dark Lord, most feared wizard of all time, and **smile**? _Harry_. That was the boy's name. Well then. How annoying. How optimistic, this brat was. Much like the children from the orphanage when he was a child. Too much like them.

With his wand raised, pointed at this...this...boy, uttering a proud and confident incantation of the Killing Curse, there was a flash of green and Tom Riddle, the ultimate evil, Lord Voldemort lost his body and awareness for many years. His final corporeal, vicious thought was how he never did like children.


End file.
